Halcyon
by thekindlyones
Summary: "hal·cy·on (halsēən): Calm, peaceful, tranquil; golden / A fabled bird held in ancient legend to have had the power to calm the wind and the waves while it nested on the sea during the winter solstice." The odds are always in favour of those from the Career districts – especially that of District 1. However, things changed when Finnick Odair is reaped. Finnick/OC
1. Prologue: The 65th Victor

**Halcyon**

_**Prologue: The 65th Victor**_

**Disclaimer: **_If you think anything you recognise does not belong to me, you are… right. NOTHING BELONGS TO ME. I HAVE NOTHING. I AM NOTHING. I'm just very sad and lonely._

* * *

The roar of the crowd echoes from the holographic projector, filling the silent parlour with its yells and cheers of excitement.

Cameras follow as a tall, bronze-haired teenager saunters up to the stage, wearing a dazzling smile that rivals the brilliance of the lights irradiating his path. His pulchritudinous visage flashes across the giant screens, adding onto the charm of his grin and bringing with it even louder hurrahs from the people gathered in the grandiose stadium.

Caesar Flickerman, current resident host of the games' interviews, stands from his seat on one of the two couches present on stage, and laughs heartily as he welcomes the teenager to stand beside him. His getup this year is reminiscent of a jester with his outlandish harlequin suit and neon yellow powdered wig that have been in style for the better part of the season. He is wearing a bright orange blush on his cheekbones and his dark eyes are lined with a matching orange paint. As always, Caesar's unnaturally white teeth stands out from his equally as unnatural tanned skin, but that was what a typical Capitolite will look like – false and outrageous.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" He calls into his microphone, an arm stretched out to the teenager who now stood before him, a vision of pride and triumph. "Let me present to you, the winner of the 65th Hunger Games – District 4's _Finnick Odair_!"

Once again, the crowd hollers.

Lux cringes at the noise and looks away from the television, only to catch the icy glare in her mother's cold eyes. She flinches again and turns back to the hologram flickering in front of her and clenches her fists instead in order to not look away again.

Caesar welcomes Finnick onto the spare couch and she watches as the latter spreads himself across the furniture, arms splayed out behind him and his right leg crossed over his left knee, looking as comfortable as one will in their own home.

"So tell me, Finnick," Caesar says, leaning over towards him with a grin. "How are you doing?"

The teenager laughs and makes a sweeping motion at his self. "I'm fantastic. The doctors patched me up real good and my styling team did a great job on my wardrobe, wouldn't you say?"

The question directed at the audience makes for another round of congruous whooping.

"I say you look absolutely wonderful, and I'm pretty sure everyone agrees with me," Caesar chirps. "Now on to the more serious matters… Finnick, you're only 14, am I right? How does it feel to be the youngest victor in the history of the games?"

Finnick takes a moment, the smile never leaving his face and Lux can almost see the swooning of the entire female population in the crowd despite the cameras not aiming at them. She hears the excited murmuring and hates that the tears are welling up in her eyes.

"I'm very blessed and fortunate, of course," Finnick replies smoothly with a voice unfitting for a boy his age. "By the lovely people of the Capitol who supported and sponsored me during the game," He pauses to throw a beaming grin at the camera and this time, Lux can hear the swooning of the audience. "It is a heavy crown to bear, but I shall bear it well for the people who bestowed this honour onto me."

"Well said! Very well-said, indeed!" Caesar praises. "I'm sure a handsome young man like you will wear it well. Now, I've been dying to know this – I'm certain everyone in Panem agrees with me – but in the last minutes before the game ended, the tribute from District 1 whispered something to you. Something the cameras couldn't quite catch. You wouldn't mind sharing with us what it is, would you?"

Finnick hesitates once more, although this time, he isn't wearing a smile. Instead, his eyes glistens and the magnified view on the screen capture every emotion that flickers across his face. The audience grows quiet at the sudden drop in his demeanour and waits while he takes in slow, shuddering breaths.

"I made a promise," He finally says, looking down at his hand in his lap with a small frown. "I made him a promise to pass on some words to his family."

"And that is?" Caesar presses on.

The blankness is his expression breaks and the glowing, charming disposition that had first appeared on stage, returns.

"For me to know and for all of you to find out," He says and the stadium is in uproar anew.

Lux tunes out the rest of the interview and instead focuses on the one word that reverberates over and over again in her head.

When a sharp, shooting pain finally registers in the fuzzy mind, she blinks and looks down at her hands in her lap. Angry red marks mar the pale skin of her thigh where her nails have been digging into them during the whole interview. Some deeper nicks are leaking baubles of fresh blood, but she doesn't even care enough to wipe them away or to clean up her wounds.

All she cares about is the fact that he broke a promise to her, and he isn't coming back to fix it.

* * *

_New story alert!_

_I've had this idea revolving in my head ever since I read Catching Fire (which was a long while ago), but it was something that I couldn't pen down because I couldn't visualise the right Finnick. Now that I've got a visual imagery of him - thank you, Sam - I am finally able to put down my ideas into words and turn those words into a story that I hope is worthy of your time._

_I love Odesta, don't get me wrong. Ever since I read up on the part with the jabberjays, I read the hell out of the Odesta fics. But I'm also a sucker for OCs and romance stories and this is my first attempt at trying my hand in pairing one part of an end-game pairing with my own character._

_As always, reviews are lovely and pushes me to continue writing._


	2. The 65th Reaping

**Halcyon**

_**Chapter One: The 65th Reaping**_

* * *

I suppose I should be thankful for the life I am living. Especially today of all days. This year of all years.

As the blouse I pull over my head settles across my shoulders in a gentle caress of smooth silk and golden threads, I figure I should feel a little more grateful for the fact that I am born into a family where opulence and high-living is an everyday thing.

It is the same thought that pops into my head whenever the annual Hunger Games are here.

My eyes trail from watching the way the gold in my attire glimmer under the light to the expressionless figure standing before me. As usual, the hefty blonde curls sprouting from the tops of my head are an unruly mess that falls everywhere else and refuses to be coaxed to lie flat against my back like mother demands. My hand combs through the tangled mess but I wince when one of my fingers catches onto a particularly stubborn knot. It's a knot resulting from me falling asleep on the couch two days ago, when the woolen throw blanket had been rubbing against my hair through the night. I received quite the nagging from mother when she saw me the next morning, looking like I had just been put through a hair-dryer the wrong way. I stop my combing and instead runs the smooth planes of my palms down the frizzy surface before giving up entirely on attempting to make it look decent.

My arms and legs, plastered in a pale, almost papery white skin peeks out from the attire that had been laid out for me in the morning. It's freshly ironed and smells faintly of my favourite fruit – peaches.

The reflection in the mirror looks well dressed, but the expression on her face simply looks forlorn.

I purse my lips a little before pulling them up into a small smile. No, not much of an improvement there. It looks so hollow that I falter and frown. I was often able to pull up a smile that although feigned, looked genuine as a result of my practices during the dinner parties my parents often hosted. If there is one thing I am proud of, it is my ability to fake a smile and my congenialness so well that no one – well, except for my brother, could see through my contrived act.

Again and again, I try, relaxing my lips then tensing them up into as real a smile as I can manage despite the nerves fluttering about in my guts.

"Shouldn't you do something to that thing living on your head before mother yells at you again?"

The familiar question snaps me back to attention as I turn towards the now open bedroom door. Ajax stands in the doorway and smirks at me, not unkindly but more teasingly, with his arms folded across his chest. He, like me, is clad in an outfit of glistening gold and airy flaxen silk, which I assume to be a theme our mother has going on this year.

"Is it time for us to go?" I ask instead, choosing to ignore his usual jab at my untamable mane.

"Soon," He says. Ajax strides into my room and comes to a stop beside me. My practiced smile turns into a wry grin when I notice how incredibly small and frail I look standing next to his tall, hulking physique. He clucks his tongue, picking at the sleeveless shirt he's wearing and scowls at our reflections. "Mother needs to stop dressing us in matching costumes. We look so stupid."

I merely shrug seeing as I've got nothing to say on that matter. Mother has always been coordinating our outfits since we were born, and not doing so like the obedient children we _should_ be only serves to earn ourselves endless reproach from her. Now that we're older though, we are allowed to dress ourselves – _finally!_ – although we do still have to follow her wardrobe choices for important events, such as the reaping today.

My mind drifts off to the reaping that is to transpire later in the afternoon. Having turned twelve this past spring, I am under strict obligation to have my name enter the tributes pool, as per Panem traditions.

Despite the fact that I'm from District 1, a career district with an abundance of exceedingly competent contenders who are always ready to volunteer for the games, I can't help but feel the anxiety bubbling up inside me at the thought of Sosie Zephyr, District 1's escort, reading out my name in that ear-piercing, high-pitched Capitolite accent of hers during the reaping. It has been a reoccurring theme of my nightmares whenever the games are nearing – of my name being picked for the games and having no one come up to enter in my stead.

I know I'm never going to survive in the arena. Not even for a minute after the countdown ends. If anything, I'm going to be the first tribute to be picked off for sheer negligible size alone.

"Nervous?" Ajax asks and shoots me a knowing look when I shake my head. He chuckles lightly and ruffles my already tangled hair, much to my annoyance. "There's nothing to be nervous about, Luxie. Don't be silly."

"That's easy for you to say," I bite back quickly and huffs as I try to get my hair to lie flat again. "It's your last year."

"And there's still every chance that I may be picked," Ajax rebuts. "There's nothing to be worried about," He reassures me again, now patting my head gently. "The odds are always in our favour, remember?"

My hands fall back to my sides as I allow his words to sink into my head.

Ajax is right.

The odds are often, if not always, in District 1's favour.

More than half of the victors hail from their district and because of that, they had built themselves a repertoire as a fierce, ruthless and cunning sector of Panem besides being a wealthy distributor of luxury goods. Districts 2 and 4 comes in at a close second while the minority are scattered across the rest of the poorer territories.

But the guarantee that my district's tributes were more than likely to last in the games didn't make them anymore likeable to me. On the contrary, it just makes them that much worse because the chances of survival are not equally spread out among everyone, just like the wealth and standard of living.

"I still hate the games," I huff.

Ajax laughs at my sulky demeanour, reminding him once again of my young age, and sweeps a hand through his silky hair easily, although he shoots a wary glance over my shoulders, towards the open door.

"Don't let anyone hear you say that," He tells me gently but I know it's a stern warning from the look in his eyes. "Especially mother and father." He pauses, and then adds. "And Gemma."

"Are you going to volunteer?" I ask instead. It's the same question I always ask him before every reaping ever since the year I understood what the Hunger Games are all about. I know my eyes are hopeful, as I look up at my older brother, waiting for the same answer he graces me with each time to help settle my nerves.

As a career who spends most of his childhood training in the Academy downtown, Ajax is one of the many eligible entrants that are encouraged to volunteer for the games, should any of them find that the tribute picked is not satisfactory.

Career tributes are always the ones eager to volunteer in other's places and ten out of ten reapings, someone would always be stepping out of the crowd with a hand raised in the air proudly as they shouted across the Justice Square of their willingness to enter the competition.

Nine out of ten times, the volunteers are selected instead. The only time they aren't, is because the name chosen from the reaping ball _is_ a career tribute him or herself.

Ajax though, has never once volunteered for the games, much to our parents' disappointment. I never knew why, but I don't question it. Not when my brother is going to be safe and sound with me, back in the comfort of our home.

"Only if it's necessary," Ajax reassures me just like he did the years before. "Only if I have to."

I nod as usual, and the prickling fear pooling in my gut fades away slightly. Ajax reaches into his pant pockets and fidget around, pulling a face, before he pulls out something long and thin – like a piece of yellow yarn – and holds it up to my line of sight.

Upon closer inspection, I find that the thing isn't actually a piece of yarn. Rather, it is a thin bracelet, of yellow gold make, that glints brightly when the light flitting through my bedroom window hits its auric surface. Ajax motions for me to take it, and I do so, marveling at the myriad of stars intricately marking it. As I turn the bracelet around, I stop at a junction where a medium sized stone sat and can't help but gasp when I recognize just what it is – _halcyonite._

"Where did you get that?" I ask, jealous that Ajax is able to procure the gem.

Halcyonite has been a favourite stone of mine ever since I caught sight of it on one of my grandmother's brooches. Being young and curious has led to my mother slapping my hand and harshly reprimanding me when I almost plucked it off of her coat. My grandmother though, bless her ever-loving heart – merely laughed as she took the breastpin down to placate me, who had just started crying, or brawling really.

The semi-opaque stone on the bracelet flashes green, blue, gold and silver, just like the one on grandmother's brooch did, but more radiantly, and when the sun catches it, a subtle, golden glow seems to emanate through the cracks of the gem – like how light streaks over the horizon during a sunrise.

"Mother gave it to me," Ajax explains, taking the bracelet back and motioning for me to put my hand out. He wraps the structured jewelry around my wrist and locks it into place with the concealed latch.

"Why didn't _I_ get one?" I ask, my tone bordering on impertinent, but I don't care. The halcyonite is my favourite stone, and yet Ajax is the one to get it, even though he isn't interested in things like that.

"Perhaps when you're older," He laughs good-naturedly, turning the bracelet such that the iridescent stone lies face-up on my wrist. "The bracelet's made to fit your wrist size now, but anytime you think it needs some altering, just bring it to Cyrus, okay? And only him. He's the only one in the whole district who I trust not to mess things up."

I nod accordingly, still mesmerized by this new piece of jewelry. The colour of the stone continues to flash and transform from one hue to another as I turn it this way and that. Halcyonite is a rare, too rare, stone that can only be found in the mountains along the west end of Lower Eden. In District 1, the rights to mine a newly discovered mineral belong to the fore-founder only. As such, only one corporation in the whole of Panem is known to have the finances, technology and permission to excavate and manufacture this particular gem.

It's this known fact of the stone's rarity that I'm befuddled as to why Ajax has decided to give it to me instead of keeping it for himself.

When I ask him, he only shrugs in his usual nonchalant manner.

"I have no need for it," He says with a sheepish grin. "Besides, it's your first reaping. And I know you're scared," He holds up his hand when I open my mouth to correct him. "And don't tell me you're not, you look like a baby deer who got her leg caught in one of the hunter's snares."

I scowl at his description of me, and swipe at his arm playfully.

"I just thought it'd be nice for you to have a token," He continues. "Even if you're not going into the arena, it's nice to have a safety blanket."

I wrap my arms around Ajax's waist; since that is the only part of him I can reach at the moment and whispers a quiet thank you to him. Ajax mumbles a reply back, patting the top of my head as always when a knock on my door breaks us apart.

Dottie, the Avox helper whom mother employed from the Capitol, stands at my doorway with her head bowed in meek silence.

"Well! Looks like it's time to go," Ajax announces as he pats my head one last time and nods at Dottie who turns to go back downstairs.

Before we leave my room to join the rest of our family, he grabs a random hair tie from my dressing table and motions for me to turn my back to him. I feel him drag a clumsy finger through my hair as he pulls half of it up, taking care to avoid the reasonably sized knot on the bottom and secures the ponytail as neatly as he can with the silver band.

"There. Much better," He says, looking proud of his handiwork. I turn my head sideways in the mirror to see that I do look noticeably neater, although the bottom half is still a mess of frizzy curls. "We can't have you walking out onto the square looking like a woodland creature, can we?"

He jumps out of reach from my swatting hands and laughs boisterously, adding. "Can't be good for the cameras!"

* * *

The Justice Square is a vast empty ground situated in front of the Justice Building, which is located right in the very center of District 1's merchant domain – Upper Eden. The building is a huge block of light grey cement that looms over the square. Flecks of topaz and ruby are embedded in the carved columns and vertical flags of the same colours depicting our district's symbol and motto hang over its façade. It would have been impressive to me; the way the building sparkles in the sun, if it hadn't been used as the venue for the annual games.

Upon reaching the square, I am promptly ushered away, along with several others of my age, to the line where we are to have our blood taken so that the peacekeepers can confirm the validity of our attendance. The reaping is a compulsory event for everyone, and unless you are on your deathbed, or you are already, well _dead_, it is a mandatory law for you to attend it.

Although Ajax and Father have already briefed me on the procedures of the reaping weeks before it is to take place, I can't help but panic when I am pulled away from the comforting and warm grasp of my brother's hand. Mother barely blinks and Gemma looks blasé as always while they move off to the zone for people who are much too old for the games. Ajax's playful wink and reassuring grin is all the encouragement I can get from him before I too, am whisked away.

Now that I'm left all alone, my senses are sharper. The ringing in my ears is now replaced with the tones of _Horn of Plenty – _Panem's national anthem. The rich, harmonious melodies of drums, violins and horns fill the otherwise quiet square. Unlike other days where the square is normally filled with noises from the pushcarts and open businesses lining the streets, the piazza is almost silent today; save for the beaming, excited faces you can so easily point out as the careers.

The girl in front of me squeaks when her blood is being taken, and it makes my gut clench that little bit more. I watch as she presses her punctured fingertip onto the book lying open on the table before the peacekeeper points a device at it, which beeps after a few seconds.

The peacekeeper, a surly man with disinterested murky eyes, nods at the girl who quickly scurries towards the area that is roped off for the potential tributes my age. He switches the needle on the slim black device and chucks the used one into a wicker basket sitting at his feet carelessly.

"Next," I step up to the table, counting slowly in my head to help calm the nerves that are threatening to pour from my lips. My hands are clammy and I can feel the sticky sweat beading behind my neck, which is made worse by the glaring sun bearing down on all of us.

"Name?" He grouses.

"Lux," I say.

He grunts, much like an angered bull, and glares up at me. "_Full _name."

"Oh, uh, Luxene," I stammer, flushing at my blunder. "Luxene Goldespun."

"_Goldespun_," He spits. I think he assumes I can't hear him. "Of course."

He holds his hand out and wriggles his fingers, which I take as a sign for my hand. I place my right hand in his palm, and not a second later I am being pricked with the very same device. A small, sharp pain stings my finger, but I am otherwise all right. The pain isn't even enough for me to cringe or squeak.

I press my bloodied finger onto the empty box beside a set of statistics, which I assume are mine and watches as the peacekeeper holds another gadget over it that beeps and I take that as a sign that I am, well, me.

He waves me off then, and grunts for the next person in line to move up. The sourness in his expression never flickering when I walk away. The spot for the twelve-year-olds are situated right in front of the stage with the girls on the right and the boys on the left. I am one of the last few to be checked in, and so, there isn't much waiting to do on my part before Sosie appears onstage in another of her ridiculous Capitolite getup to kick start the games.

As usual, the mayor reads us the story of Panem, of North America; the land before us and of the trials and tribulations the Capitol has been put under during the Dark Days – the age of rebellion from the districts. It is something I've learned to tune out after a while, so instead, I choose to look behind me in an effort to spot my brother among the batch of eighteen-year-olds.

Before I can discern Ajax's trademark tousled mane among the sea of neatly gelled hairstyles however, the mayor has ended his speech and is already welcoming Sosie up on stage.

It doesn't take long after his introduction ends for our extravagantly dressed escort to claim the limelight as she bounces up to the microphone in her neon green stilettos. The colour vaguely reminds me of the colour a venomous plant will take, something vicious and toxic, which will prove devastatingly lethal if you had gotten too close to it for comfort.

I guess the description didn't fall too far from that which details Sosie's job scope.

She is pretty much trained professionally to send children to their deaths in the pageants.

"Welcome, welcome!" She croons into the silver microphone. The anthem had already dwindled down when I joined the rest of my peers and so, the cadence of her voice only serves to echo even louder across the square. "Happy Hunger Games, everyone! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour!"

Sosie titters on about how this is going to be yet another victorious year for our district, despite the fact that the victor of last year's games is from District 2. A giggly smile is stretched across her white paint caked face and I'm sure if you look closely, you can see the cracks running along her beaming face.

"Enough chitchat!" She trills with a flourish wave. "It is now time for us to pick two of our most courageous young man and woman for a chance at the utmost glory in the 65th Annual Hunger Games," She grins and nods to herself. "As always, ladies first!"

Sosie teeters towards the one of the glass balls holding the name slips of potential tributes. She dunks her crimson-taloned hand through the opening and swirls it around before pulling up a single white piece of paper with a black strip taped across it. The escort giggles as she makes her way back to the microphone and peels open the slip carefully.

"Greer Preston!"

The name rings a bell in my head as a commotion from behind me draws my attention towards them. There, a redhead is being singled out by her peers, and it is when my eyes falls on her face that I know why it is the name is so familiar to me.

Greer is the daughter of my family's cook, Mary. She's a year older than me and comes around our house sometimes to help Mary out with the meals. We've only ever interacted twice, both of which involved her asking me if there was anything I wished to have for dinner, although sometimes, I'd catch her watching me while I practiced playing on the piano.

She often wears a blank expression on her thin face although now, anyone can see she is clearly shocked into silence at her name being called for the reaping.

"I volunteer!" Before Sosie can usher Greer up the stage, a tall, lithe seventeen-year-old steps out from the crowd with her right arm raised proudly in the air. She is obviously a career, judging from the enthusiasm in her voice and the proud way in which she carries herself.

"What's your name?" Sosie squeals once the volunteer stands beside her.

"Lane Penlon," She says.

"Well I bet you're a career, aren't you?"

Lane puffs her chest out haughtily and smirks. "Trained all my life for this moment, miss."

"Marvelous! What a darling little thing you are!" Sosie warbles, clapping her hands in excitement while the rest of us follow. "And now, it's time for the boys!"

Like before, she draws another name slip from the other glass ball, and toddles back to the center. Her spindly fingers tears off the black strip in the middle and flattens the paper out. I turn, hoping to once again catch sight of Ajax, yearning for another sign of reassurance from him when Sosie Zephyr reads out the chosen tribute, loud and clear.

"Ajax Goldespun!"

* * *

_There you go._

_Another one down. _

_I might put another one up on Boxing Day because I'll be much too busy opening presents and stuffing my face with food on the Eve and Christmas Day to continue writing. But I'll try ;) _

_Lovely thanks to the reviewers: **hellraiserphoenix, youngbones7, bethanna80, Heartless-Princess33**_and _**OdairFinnickIs X.**_

_Happy Holidays, readers! _


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